Poison
by II-Gen3sis-II
Summary: Seneca Crane's thoughts when he realizes that his death is staring right at him through the monitors of the arena.


**A/N:** I welcome you to my first ever Hunger Games fanfiction. Suffice to say, this was rather nerve wracking to write as I'm wanting to give the best voice possible to the characters while staying true to the characterization created in the books. Anyway, feedback, comments, all are very much welcome. I'm always looking to improve. Big thank you to Phoenix Refrain for looking this over and giving me her input. I couldn't have done it without her. Enjoy~

**Disclaimer:** All properties of The Hunger Games belong to the incredible Suzanne Collins. I only own the concept presented.

* * *

_President Snow: "Hope, it is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective, a lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, so long as it's contained."  
Seneca Crane: [Confused] "So..."  
President Snow: "So, contain it!"  
~ The Hunger Games Film Adaptation_

**Poison**

There it was, staring at him point blank in the face. Two teenager's ready and willing to die for one another in the arena. They were continually defying everything that the Capitol threw at them, defying everything that the Capitol thought of the districts. With this simple act they were discussing, right now, right into the speakers hidden throughout the arena, right into the homes of every single Capitol and District home, they would inherently begin to destroy the balance the Capitol had in place. By committing suicide these two would not just flicker the flame of hope within the districts. Oh no, it would ignite the flame so thoroughly it would take a miracle to bring it down again. This was going above and beyond dangerous. Not only for them, this Girl on Fire and Boy with the Bread, but for himself.

He could feel the eyes of his workers boring into his skin, his personal space. They wanted to know what to do, how to respond. But what could they do? They were not down in that arena, they couldn't pull the two apart. It was far too late for that. Sure, they could send in another type of muttation. But that in itself wasn't conducive to giving them a winner. It would also be considered boring and lack of boring, repeated decisions, was something he prided himself on. That originality was what got him the job; and he'd be damned if he broke that originality streak now. But this time, this time it was different. Everyone was in new territory now and they knew it. They'd be stupid not to. He didn't even want to begin thinking about the President's thoughts on this turn of events.

But damn it all he had to. It was in his nature to look at all the angles. The President ordered him to control the flame. Bring it to a simmer, just under the surface. But then, when Haymitch came to him and begged them not to kill of his two tributes like they were planning, he had agreed. To what end though? He didn't have to agree to anything, but yet he did in this case. It was like a wanton man in need of his mistress, this desire for good television. It called to him, pleaded with him, downright begged him to forgo the warnings of that decision. He wanted to create a story that the people would talk about for months, years. He wanted to be put down in the history books as the most creative, original, Head Gamemaker the Capitol has ever seen. He wanted to be the one who had his name etched forever into the country's mind as a force to be reckoned with.

But, in all honesty, the more he allowed himself to think about it, was it really to just create good television? Or was it something else? Something more than that. He knew the sparks of rebellion were forming within the districts. He knew that his decision to allow Katniss and Peeta to live were the flint to those sparks. He now knew that the decision would have dire consequences. District 13 would, no doubt, use this spark to light the inferno. The thought almost frightened him and he didn't frighten that easily. When he looked back on his meetings with Snow over the past few days he began to realize two things. One, President Snow knew of his desire for a good show, a good story. And two, President Snow also knew that his desire for a good story would be his downfall.

"Sir?" the voice of someone nearby spoke out to him through the flashing thoughts in his head.

He swallowed thickly, the words he was about to say held a bitter cold taste in mouth. It was like signing his own death warrant. A call from the president was guaranteed after this decision. He, Seneca Crane, had failed. A cold shiver made its way down his spine. It was at this moment as he spoke these words, he knew that this would be the last time he would be the Head Gamemaker. He knew this would be the last time he would walk these halls, the last time he would talk to these people, the last time he would gaze upon the sun outside. This was it, it was done.

"End it. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark will be the first pair of winners in Panem's history for the Hunger Games."

Suffice to say; with the thought of his impending death fresh in his mind for his failure, he wouldn't pity the person who took his place.


End file.
